I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Story Bone

"The screwdriver wasn't his weapon of choice, but it was the weapon at hand."

See what happens when I write mil-lit stuff (Pirate Story, etc). I get all these combatty thoughts.

3 comments:

Camille Alexa said...

Sounds thriller-y, suspense-y.

Todd Wheeler said...

Nice weapon to go to town on the larger insects.

Steve Buchheit said...

Thanks guys. It was actually a thought at work (somewhat bad day yesterday). One of those comments along the lines of, (insert inane comment) "And then, your honor, was when I had to kill him." There just happened to be a short flat-head screwdriver in my hand at the moment a certain comment was said yesterday.

Sometimes the wry grin I wear is because of the joke someone said, sometimes it's a joke they didn't mean to say, sometimes it's the joke I cracked in my head, and sometimes it's because the fantasy scene in my head is just so gratifying. :)